Advertisement
by Ellstra
Summary: Mycroft finds out somebody wants to sell him via an advertisement in the papers and it doesn't take him a long time to find out who it is. But certainly, there's nobody to buy him. Right? Or maybe there is and he won't mind being sold after all.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello everyone! :) I haven't seen The Empty Hearse yet, but I'm planning to watch it tonight. Just by the way.**_

_**The idea of this fic is not entirely my own, there was this one picture on one Sherlock related Facebook page where Mycroft asked Sherlock why was he listed on sale in the papers. And well, I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy. :)**_

„Sherlock. I've just seen an advertisement in the papers that said I was for sale. I do not suppose you have anything in common with it." Mycroft Holmes gave his younger brother a look that denied what he'd just said. Sherlock shrugged and put on a not very convincing look of ignorance and confusion.

„Of course not. Who would I want to sell you to?" he replied with a smug smile. Mycroft smirked at him and once again reminded Sherlock of childhood and these grimaces his brother had been giving him.

„No idea," Mycroft retorted, „especially when you have no right to sell something that's not yours."

„I wouldn't put it better way," Sherlock smiled and his bright eyes shone with amusement.

„So it must be a great coincidence that the phone number beneath this-" Mycroft made a sign of quotation marks with his fingers, „'extra special offer that will not repeat itself' resembled your own phone number perfectly."

„Strange world we live in, isn't it?" Sherlock replied. After a while he could stand it no longer and burst out laughing. „You should have seen your face right now."

„Yes, very amusing," Mycroft growled and tapped the tip of his umbrella against the pavement they were standing on, „now, when we've laughed, would you be so immesurably kind and explained to me why you put that advertisement in the papers?"

„Well, for fun obviously," Sherlock rolled his eyes as if nothing was clearer than that, „criminals obviously decided to go on a holiday and John has that new wife of his and has no time for me."

„Jealous, aren't you?" Mycroft smirked and he almost felt pity for his small brother whom he still considered to be the little boy who had made him pretend he'd been a merchant and Sherlock a pirate who robbed everybody of their money.

„Of course not." Sherlock said so quickly Mycroft had to smile, „But I don't get it. I'm so much more interesting than that woman. Nobody can appreaciate John more than me."

„I'm sure you were giving him tons of love and consideration and you cooked him dinners and you let him sleep when he wanted to." Mycroft said derisively.

„But- That's not what he wants! He doesn't want to be at home, have a calm life and a wife. That's not my John." Sherlock babbled, completely oblivious to the fact that Mycroft was with him.

„Maybe he's not your John, but he's changed. You were away for three years, Sherlock. You couldn't expect him to be waiting for you all the time." Mycroft almost forgot he was mad at Sherlock for the advertisement.

„I would wait." Sherlock whispered and his voice was very different from the one he had used only moments before.

„I'm sure about that," Mycroft agreed, much to his astonishment.

„I did it for him. I disappeared for those years because of him, to protect him. And he… he betrayed me." Sherlock bowed his head to hide emotions in his face from Mycroft.

„Sherlock, you can't turn back time. You can still be his friend, he's still much fonder of you than anybody else has ever been. Don't let that slip through your fingers." Mycroft couldn't believe his own words.

„I want him for myself. I don't want to share," Sherlock insisted and made a noise that sounded a lot like a sob.

„You've always been such a jerk, Sherlock," Mycroft said, „sometimes I wonder why they let you walk around when you're obviously a child."

„But I can make money and that's what I'm doing right now," Sherlock looked straight into his brother's eyes, „I'll sell you and I won't even be sorry."

They stared at each other for a little while and Mycroft was trying to shrug off the feeling of hurt pride. Sherlock was cursing himself for letting his brother see his feelings.

„Don't tell me anybody has called," Mycroft laughed, „that would really make me laugh."

„If it makes you feel good, Lestrade's called about three times by now." Sherlock said casually and watched his brother carefully. A big pack of emotions appeared on Mycroft's face, much more than Sherlock would need to prove what he had suspected long ago. He didn't miss just a great part of John's life, he also weren't there to see the most interesting thing about his brother.

„And?" Mycroft said, his voice uptight and stiff Sherlock had to put great effort into keeping his face serious.

„For the first time I told him I wouldn't sell him anything he already owns," Sherlock replied and watched the slight hint of red creeping into Mycroft's cheeks, „then he called again and I told him I might consider it and asked him what he offers. Lastly he called to ask whether I made up my mind yet."

„And you said…" Mycroft snapped impatiently, clapping the umbrella against the ground almost feverishly. Sherlock bit his lip not to laugh; Mycroft had after all tried to help him with John.

„I said I will sell you for a dog. He's supposed to find the cutest dog a world can offer." Sherlock replied and gave Mycroft a self-satisfied grin as he glimpsed confusion on the older Holmes's face.

„A dog?" Mycroft asked, still bemused. He remembered the times when Sherlock offered him his own little finger for exchange for a microscope, but this was strange. Mycroft had never heard Sherlock talking about dogs before, not even when he was a child. Unless…

„John likes dogs." Sherlock explained.

„So you're selling me to Gregory for a dog to give to John," Mycroft summed up and stopped himself as he heard what he'd just said. It was so weird. But it was how Sherlock was thinking.

„Obviously. Lestrade will do anything to get you and I would do anything to get John." Sherlock raised one eyebrow to show Mycroft that he thought it was completely clear.

„And you think getting him a dog would make John abandon Mary and move in with you, do your shopping and otherwise stand you? You're insane," The older Holmes turned his face from his little brother.

„Of course not. I would have to share him with the woman and also a dog." Sherlock rolled his eyes. „Are you really such an idiot, Mycroft? I'm keeping the dog and John will be coming to my place to see the dog."

„You're not able to take care even of yourself and you want a dog?" Mycroft exclaimed.

„I don't necessarily need to want it. And John will think the same so he'll be coming to take care of it. Don't worry, I won't let the dog suffer." Sherlock's phone rang in that moment so whatever Mycroft wanted to say remained unspoken as Sherlock fished the phone out of his pocket to answer it.

„Ah, good to hear you Greg! Have you got the dog?" Sherlock said into the phone and gave Mycroft a knowing look.

„A puppy! Well, that's lovely. You can come to Baker street now, he's here with me." Sherlock grinned as Mycroft's face turned dark red.

„Don't worry, he's fine. See you then. Bye," Sherlock hung up and patted Mycroft on the shoulder. „Well, your prince Charming is coming to rescue you soon."

Mycroft wasn't able to think of any witty response so he just followed Sherlock into the flat while the former was making a phone call once again.

„Hello John, I was wondering whether you'd like to see my new dog. – No, it's not a joke, I'm getting a dog. – Yes, Baker street, you once didn't have to leave your home to be there." Mycroft caught the last sentence with interest. So Sherlock was lowering himself to wicked and base remarks.

When they sat inside, neither of the Holmes brothers spoke but they were looking into each other's eyes intensely. Suddenly a bell rang and Sherlock stood up immediately and ran to open the door.

„Oh, hi Greg, come in," Mycroft heard from the hall and his heart beat a bit faster. This situation was so weird only Sherlock Holmes could have thought of that. All his thoughts vanished from his mind in the moment Greg Lestrade entered the room with a small furry ball curled in his arms. The detective was as handsome as ever, only his cheeks were a bit more flushed than usual. That with the small dog on his breast made him look irresistibly cute and Mycroft could not stop himself from admiring him. They looked at each other and blushed even more but both of them wore a smile upon their lips.

„So here you have him. I swear he's the real Mycroft Holmes and if you like to have it signed, you'll have to wait for a while. Now, give me the dog," Sherlock interrupted their moment harshly and got the puppy from Greg's arms. Lestrade frowned at the sudden lack of warmth pressed to his chest, but he said nothing. Mycroft was disappointed to see the dog leaving Greg's arms. Sherlock left the room in instance and soon they heard a loud thud when the front door of the house were closed.

Sherlock was standing in front of the house with the puppy stuffed awkwardly in his grasp as he was looking at all sides to catch a glimpse of John approaching. He was so busy with trying to see him come by taxi that he didn't notice Watson walking straight towards him.

„Hi, Sherlock," John greeted him and Holmes jumped into the air.

„Hey. You startled me," Sherlock admitted and his smile warmed up a bit. John was looking very well. Surely not her work, Sherlock thought for himself with jealousy.

„Did I? Wow, that's something," John grinned. Then he noticed the animal in Sherlock's arms and bent down a bit to get a better look at it. „So that's it?"

„Yeah. A pretty one, isn't it?" Sherlock smiled and moved the puppy a bit so it faced John directly.

„Sure. Hello, lovely. You're a little beauty, aren't you?" John patted the dog's head and then looked up at Sherlock again.

„What's its name?" he asked and Sherlock shrugged.

„I don't know, Lestrade's just brought it and I don't even know whether it is a male or a female." Sherlock replied and moved the dog in his hands again.

„Lestrade?" John raised one eyebrow, „is he making some extra money by selling puppies?"

„No, but I made him get this one because I was too busy. I exchanged it for Mycroft." Sherlock scratched the animal's head and he had to involuntarily admit it was quite cute.

„I'm not even asking what is this supposed to mean." John sighed.

„I basically sold my brother to Lestrade and he paid me with this dog. Here, hold it for a while," Sherlock put it into John's arms and the doctor accepted it.

„You sold your brother to Lestrade. Why am I not surprised?" John smiled and Sherlock felt quite happy with just standing there and watching John.

„I guess Lestrade will know if it is a male or female. But I'd prefer not to ask him right now." Sherlock caressed the dog and resisted the urge to let his hand come down John's forearm.

„You let Lestrade and Mycroft to solve their stuff in your flat?" John asked in surprise.

„I guess I did," Sherlock nodded.

„Wow. That's so wonderful of you, Sherlock!" John gave Sherlock a bright smile which the detective returned merrily. As he looked down at his most favourite human being and the cutest dog he'd ever owned (not that he had ever had a dog before), he knew that he might never take back the three years he'd been away, but he could still live in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Some of you wanted to read more of this story so here we go. Hope you like it (and certainly let me know via review!)**_

* * *

Greg turned around and looked at the closed door behind himself anxiously. Slowly, he returned his attention to Mycroft who'd been watching him carefully for the whole time and now blushed when he was caught staring. Greg cleared his throat nervously and made two small steps towards Mycroft.

„So…" he began but his voice died out. They watched each other in embarassment and it was the longest and most awkward silence Greg ever experienced. He wanted to say so many things and yet he couldn't bring himself to pronounce even one of them. Mycroft's thoughtful, inquiring eyes were piercing him and he felt even more intimidated.

He'd had an interest in the older Holmes brother for a longer time and he'd spent many nights thinking about himself, Mycroft and what was the thing that had made him put their names together in his fantasies. The more he tried to deny it, the more obvious it was getting and finally, there he was; standing right in front of the British government and unable to say a single word. Nevertheless, he thought, the latter wasn't too talkative either. To be fair, he never was.

„Do not feel ashamed, just speak as you wish." Mycroft broke the silence first to ease Lestrade's nervosity. However, he wasn't very successful and Greg felt even more stupid. He was just waiting for Mycroft to break into fit of uncontrollable laughter, Sherlock to storm into the room with tears of glee on his face and to be told he was an idiot.

„Don't worry, I'm not a part of my brother's childish game. I would not allow him to use me to make fool of you." Mycroft went on and Greg froze.

„But he did make a fool of me," he said more to himself, „I bet he's already returned the dog and now he's somewhere laughing…"

„I do not wish to spoil it for you, but I doubt that. He really did want the dog," Mycroft objected in an unusually soft voice.

„Don't lie just to make me feel better. Sherlock doesn't like dogs," Lestrade growled.

„No he doesn't. But John does, at least due to Sherlock," Mycroft sighed and looked at the wall that had been shot by Sherlock so long ago.

„John? He's still hasn't given up then?" Greg asked in surprise. He was hiding twitching fingers behind his back. He felt like a schoolboy who was waiting to ask his first girl out.

„Apparently not." Mycroft made a face that Greg had commonly associated with when Mycroft spoke about his younger brother. „I don't think my brother respects things such as laws or marriage. He believes John belongs to him and considers himself the first person in John's life. And he is not going to stop before anything to prove it."

„Like selling you," Greg said subconsciously, „but why?"

„I have a theory but I do not wish to say it aloud because it may offend you and embarass me if it was wrong." Mycroft explained and averted gaze. Of course he had a theory, it was so plain and yet beautiful. Neat, Sherlock would say. But he could not make himself talk about it aloud, not to Greg. Why would Sherlock even think it would work? He hadn't talked to Greg too much and even less in front of Sherlock. He wasn't aware of anything either he or the inspector had done that would indicate any attraction between them. It wasn't logical, why had Sherlock done what he had done? There was no other explanation though. Why would Sherlock try to sell Mycroft through an advertisement in the papers – papers Mycroft didn't read, so it was not to anger him – if not to get to Lestrade? And if he wanted the dog, why did he need Lestrade to do it? It didn't make sense whatsoever.

„Well you know," Greg grinned and pulled one chair to himself, turned the back of it towards Mycroft and sat onto it with legs spread widely. He saw a sparkle in Mycroft's eyes which encouraged him. „I own you now. I can order you to tell me."

„I do not think so," Mycroft leant forward, folding his hands into the same gesture as his brother often did.

„Why?" Greg asked and gave Mycroft a lopsided smirk.

„Try to. Make me," Mycroft teased, „here I am, Gregory."

„Oh." Lestrade tried to think of a witty reply, „uh, right. Well,"

„Don't tell me you can't think of anything. Don't disappoint me, detective inspector," Mycroft said the last words almost mockingly. Greg didn't know whether to blush or to feel like a bucket of cold water was thrown on his head. He usually had mixed feelings about Sherlock but it was far worse with Mycroft; in this moment more than usual.

„Well, I can. Right," Greg said and didn't look into Mycroft's eyes. He stood up quickly and walked over to him. Without looking at him because it might be the end of his attempt to surprise Mycroft, he walked straight in front of Holmes.

_I'm gonna either regret this or feel immesurably happy to have done it_, Greg thought and bent down. Mycroft understood his intentions only a second before he did it what meant quite lot. Mycroft hadn't had time to appreciate how smart and inventive Greg was because in a while his thoughts were clouded by rush of hormones.

Greg closed his eyes and kissed Mycroft. Only softly and briefly; it was so short Mycroft was for a while doubting it really happened. But it did and when they looked at each other, something was different.

„I've wanted to do that for some time," Greg whispered, his face only few inches from Mycroft's. He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair Holmes was sitting in awkwardly, not really sure what to do with his body.

„So do it again," Mycroft replied, his eyes focused on Greg's face.

„Shall I?" Lestrade inquired, looking up as if he was thinking.

„Take the bloody hint, will you?" Mycroft spat and surprised them both by sounding quite harsh. Greg grinned like a little child.

„You're a pretty eager man, aren't you?" Greg taunted.

„And a one used to getting what he wants." Mycroft nodded and with that he caught Greg's shirt into his hands and pulled the detective down onto his lap. They looked at each other in astonishment. Greg was kneeling with his knees on either side of Mycroft and he was not at all uncomfortable with how close they were. He didn't think he could last that for long, though. Mycroft was giving him a look that said he hadn't expected that but that he would use it.

„Careful, Mr Holmes. I might arrest you," Lestrade cooed. He had no idea where this flirting came from, but from Mycroft's arms, that were now laid on his thigs, he could feel it was working. Holmes was either having some illness or heart-attack or his flirting wasn't as bad as he thought.

„For what? Somebody should arrest you for being so handsome," Mycroft responded and Lestrade needed a while to take that in.

„For many things. Attack on a policeman, attempt to seduce or even abuse said policeman in a sexual way, being naughty…" Greg was counting on fingers while he listened to his heartbeat.

„Naughty, you say," Mycroft put on a thoughtful face, „and what about if I do this, inspector?"

Mycroft moved his hands up Greg's legs; the higher he got the slower he went and the slower he went the harder it was to concentrate. Lestrade found himself wishing Mycroft moved his fingers a bit closer to his groin, just a bit closer…

„That you are a teasing and vile creature," Greg groaned. „I order you to kiss me."

„What if I don't obey, sir?" Mycroft asked and drew small circles on Lestreade's thighs with his thumbs.

„I'll kiss you myself," Greg smiled and did as he said. He grabbed Mycroft's face into his hands and gave him a passionate kiss. They were nipping at each other's lips for some time before they had to get some air.

„That's not the kind of punishment I was expecting," Mycroft breathed into Greg's mouth.

„Ah? And what was it?" Lestrade asked while he dared to put all his weight on Mycroft, placing his chest on the latter's breast. Their hearts were fighting in a race and Greg felt very smug that he made Mycroft's body respond that way.

„A dinner with you maybe," Mycroft suggested, „a long walk in a park with lots of talking."

„Really? Such ordinary things?" Greg asked in surprise. Mycroft nodded.

„Yes, such ordinary things. I'm not Sherlock. I might be as intelligent as he is, but I'm not opposed to do ordinary things," Mycroft looked into Greg's eyes before he added: „It's enough when the people I do them with are extraordinary."

„And you-" Greg had to swallow, „you think I'm extraordinary?"

„Yes, Gregory. You are special." They stared at each other before Greg pulled a bit away and placed his hands on Mycroft's chest.

„Fine. I'll go for this punishments. Do you by any chance have time tonight?" he asked.

„I have to stop a war from starting, I have few very important meetings and there's a bomb-attack planned on this evening. Nothing I couldn't cancel." Mycroft grinned.

„And what about we begin with the walk right now?" Greg suggested and stood up.

„Who's the eager now?" Mycroft laughed and stood up as well. They walked through the door, closed it and descended the stairs. Then they opened the front door and Mycroft let Greg walk through, brushing his fingertips gently against Lestrade's back. Once outside, they turned to walk without really going anywhere, as people in love often do. After what felt like a moment but was a twenty-minutes time Greg suddenly remembered something.

„I hope Sherlock's got his keys."

* * *

_**So that's it, I hope you enjoyed. The question is: Do you want more of this? Because I didn't plan to make this a multichapter story but I'll continue if you wish to (what wouldn't I do for you, right? :))**_

_**Thanks for reading.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hello everyone. Did you miss me? (just kidding, but the last episode left its marks). **_

_**I'd like to thank Beccabrrr for betaing this for me, I'm sure you'll enjoy the story more with the corrections.**_

* * *

Greg tried not to gape when he and Mycroft entered a big restaurant. He didn't have to have the intelligence of a Holmes to understand that it was very expensive. The attendant Mycroft was talking to seemed to be staring right through him as if to find a mistake in his attire. Greg braced himself and put on a smug expression, trying to look like someone who dined in restaurants like this every day.

When they were finally seated, Greg sighed. Mycroft watched him with amusement. Greg would probably be more comfortable in some fish and chips shop, but this was Mycroft's turn and he wasn't objecting.

"I'm really glad you forced me to change." Greg gave his companion a lopsided smile. Mycroft just grinned in response.

"They wouldn't let you in if you wore the clothes you had on this morning. And it suits you," Mycroft replied, and Greg felt like a teenager again. It was so exciting to have this relationship, whatever it was and wherever it was going to lead.

"Thank you," he murmured, not too audibly, "but next time we go somewhere I choose, and you'll have to wear something other than a tuxedo or suit."

"Whatever you wish," Mycroft promised, and it surprised them both how cheerful he sounded.

"I was half expecting you to refuse," Greg said truthfully. "I can't see Sherlock doing that."

"I'm not my brother. No matter what it looks like, I don't have anything against casual wear the way Sherlock does. He wears a suit where other people wear jeans and sweatshirts. I am rarely going anywhere when I don't have that isn't work, and I can't wear jeans and a sweatshirt there, so that's why you always see me in a suit," Mycroft explained. Greg thought about it for a little while.

"So you don't wear a suit at home," he pointed out just to make sure.

"Certainly not." Mycroft recalled finding his brother fast asleep lying on the floor after having abused some drugs. He remembered noticing that Sherlock didn't care that he was lying on the floor, but his shirt and suit were clean and perfectly buttoned up.

"Wow." Greg couldn't stop himself. "I can't picture you in normal clothes."

"Let's hope that isn't true for long," Mycroft responded, then had to look away when a thought that certainly shouldn't have been there appeared on his mind. Greg wasn't stupid enough not to notice it and they were silent for a while.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a tall, lean waiter came to their table and greeted them with a stiff smile. "My name is Boronskij and I will be serving you tonight. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Bring us a bottle of water and a wine list, please," Mycroft replied. He looked at Greg who nodded.

"Of course, sir," the waiter replied, handed them menus and left. Greg opened his copy and was about to wade through the tons of words he didn't understand and attempt to find one meal he would know, but Mycroft leant forward and touched his hand lightly to catch Greg's attention.

"He emigrated here from Russia, well the Soviet Union in his times. He's never married but cares about what he looks like. Maybe because of his job, but more probably for a woman. He's homophobic, notice the look he's giving you. He thinks I pay you for sex. He has some quite interesting kinks; he likes being commanded. Doesn't look like that? But what are those injuries on his wrists that looked like from handcuffs? I wonder if he ever visited Irene Adler."

"Oh," Greg mumbled, "now I don't know if I am upset because I have enough of this from Sherlock, or relieved that somebody can deduce without speaking faster than I think, or flattered that you're trying to impress me."

"Well, I'd say all of the above. You can choose which one you feel the most." Mycroft grinned and pulled a bit away. They watched each other above the edges of their menus.

"I'll go for flattered then," Greg smiled gently. "It was amazing by the way."

"Ah, thank you. I'm sure you'd see some of the things I've said yourself, if you weren't so preoccupied watching me," Mycroft said smugly. Greg had to admit he was probably right.

"Russia?" He inquired. He understood where Mycroft saw the other things, but he had no idea how he deduced that.

"Boronskij is a Russian name. He has a slight Russian accent, but not too significant. He moved from Russia, but he doesn't speak Russian – maybe just when his sexual partners beat him, but I can't prove that. He's not feeling homesick. If he was here for just a job and money, he would speak Russian. Russian people tend to be proud of their country; they are quite patriotic. That suggests he left his country because he felt fed up with living there, or there was some danger for him. He speaks English very well – they wouldn't let somebody with a thick accent work here. Therefore, he must have been here for a long time. He emigrated a long time ago, probably in the Soviet era, with bad memories of his country."

Greg looked down and hoped he didn't gape with his mouth opened.

"Amazing," he babbled to say something. He had always thought Sherlock was unique, but here he was listening to another genius who could see more than ordinary people. A genius who wasn't showing off and overall didn't appear to be as strange and socially inept as Sherlock. A genius who was interested in him.

"Ah, now I do know what Sherlock meant when he said I was lonely." Mycroft said suddenly, and he looked surprised for a while. Greg raised one eyebrow.

"He told me I was lonely – I replied that I wasn't and even if I was there was nothing to do about it. I felt like it was enough to know I am smart and that it wouldn't seem more precious if somebody else told me," Mycroft explained and smiled softly. "I don't usually admit my brother is right, but he was in this case." he added and

Greg looked down to hide that he was blushing. "So I'm the first person to tell you how brilliant you are?" he asked. and tried to hide his shock when he saw the prices in the menu. According to them, he might afford a bottle of water, even though probably just a plastic one filled with water from faucet.

"Not the first one," Mycroft objected, "but the first to find it amazing and not attempt to outsmart me."

"I see," Greg replied even though he didn't really know what Holmes meant.

"Don't worry about the prices," Mycroft said, interrupting Greg's thoughts that were uncomfortably close to question of Mycroft's virginity.

"Uh, sorry?" Greg asked and tried to return to reality.

"I'll charge it to the government, Don't worry about it." Holmes made clear.

"Okay," Greg murmured.

They spent next few minutes in thoughts about the food, about each other and – in Mycroft's case – about when that the peace was going to be ruined. In that moment, he couldn't care less about the world's situation.

The waiter came back with a jar of fresh water. He poured some in the glasses that were already on the table and put the jar on the side of the table. Greg watched his careful movements.

"Have you decided yet, gentlemen?" The waiter turned to Mycroft at first. Greg was thinking about taking offense but he noticed the red spots on the waiter's wrists Mycroft had been talking about and he felt remarkably more cheerful. For some reason, the thought of that man handcuffed was amusing enough to heal Greg's hurt masculine pride.

"Yes, I believe we have," Mycroft said and glanced at Greg who didn't appear to object. Mycroft gave him a sign to say his order first and Lestrade obeyed. Mycroft nodded slightly and after a short hesitation made his order as well. Then he ordered some wine with a French name Greg didn't recognise, but he didn't need to be a detective inspector to see the look of awe on the Russian's face. He looked over at Mycroft who kept a poker face on.

"Thank you, sir," the waiter bowed slightly and walked away swiftly.

"May I ask you something?" Greg said after a little while.

"You mean something other than that question?" Mycroft smirked. "Don't worry, I'll stop. But I don't think you require my permission to ask something."

"Okay, uh," Greg hoped he wasn't sounding ridiculous. "Did you just change your order so you could order choose the same wine for both of us?"

"Was I that obvious?" Mycroft smiled apologetically.

"No. I mean, it was fine. It's…nice." Lestrade babbled.

"I didn't change it. I didn't know what you were going to choose, so I had two possible meals in my mind and two different bottles of wines. I didn't want to ask you what you were going to order, and therefore I had to have two options," the older Holmes explained. "Too much?"

"I can't believe it. I was the one who always chose a restaurant and everybody else just got what they wanted. But here I am with you who think about two various kinds of dinners just so it will be harmonized with a bottle of expensive wine." the detective explained A shy smile showed briefly on Greg's face.. Mycroft watched him carefully and for once he was happy to know that he was less of a sociopath than Sherlock. His poor brother probably wouldn't have understood Greg was touched.

Mycroft leaned forward after some time. "Choices. Do you believe in choices?" He leant forwards after some time. Greg's eyes turned to him immediately. "Do you believe in a free will?"

"Yeah. Of course I do." The latter Greg replied immediately. "There's got to be free will. I chose to go on this dinner with you."

"Or maybe you didn't. Maybe this is just a tiny unimportant event in the course of time that has always been meant to happen." Mycroft remarked.

"So you say it was a destiny that we are here?" Greg tilted his head on one side slightly.

"I don't say it has to be true. But it's one possible explanation , it's even been explained proposed by some physicists, or someone else." Mycroft pointed out

Greg thought about it "And due to that theory everything is written down? There are no blank pages to write on, no blotches to make. Everything's been decided for us and we can't influence our own lives."

"According to this theory, yes. Life is a column made of events and every single one of us is just a line in that column. This line is the path we walk upon and there's no way to escape it or leave it." Mycroft looked into Greg's eyes.

"Where did you get this sort of a shit?" The latter asked finally. "It's so weird."

"I've read it in a sci-fi book to be honest," Holmes answered truthfully.

"You read sci-fi books?"

"I love them." Mycroft leant closer and whispered: "Don't tell anybody, especially not Sherlock, but sci-fi is my favourite genre."

"Sci-fi? Like seriously?. You, Mycroft Holmes, the guy who's even smarter than Sherlock, love sci-fi?." Greg laughed.

"And so what? Did you expect me to read things for work only?" Holmes teased.

"Maybe. Or I don't know…biographies of dictators, you know, rational, important stuff." Greg tried to express his thoughts with words but suddenly it seemed English was a very poor language.

"You thought I enjoyed reading books about Hitler more than sci-fi because I'm clever?" Mycroft laughed, and Greg felt that even if he was laughing at his expense, it was worth it. "No. I'll have to disappoint you then. I do read them as well, but I love sci-fi. And Sherlock loves Harry Potter books."

"No way." Greg exclaimed.

"Really. But if you ever tell him you know, I'll deny everything," Mycroft warned his companion. They laughed a bit again before they were cut off by Boronskij who brought the wine. He didn't carry it; he had it laid on a small table which Greg found slightly amusing. Not that he'd never seen this before, but that night everything appeared to be even funnier. The waiter took the bottle into his hand and showed the label to Mycroft who nodded. Boronskij put the bottle down again, carefully, as if it was a baby, and used a corkscrew to open it. It wasn't very easy because the wine was not a young one, but finally he managed to get the cork out.

He poured a small amount of the wine into Mycroft's glass and stood nearby with the bottle in hand. Mycroft raised the glass and looked through the dark scarlet liquid. Then he lowered it and rotated the glass in his hand. The wine whirled and swirled in the glass, and Greg found himself fascinated by the sight. Mycroft breathed in the rich, thick scent of the wine and closed his eyes to enjoy it fully.

Had either of them looked up, they would have seen the waiter making funny faces, but they weren't paying him any attention. Mycroft took a sip of the wine and Greg watched him with expectation. He half hoped there was something wrong with the wine and Mycroft would taste another one.

"Alright," Mycroft announced finally. The waiter poured some wine into Greg's glass and then filled Mycroft's again. After that, he put the bottle down on the small table he'd brought with him, placed the cork he'd got from the bottle on a small saucer beside the bottle, and left.

"I could watch you taste wines for the whole day," Greg admitted when Boronskij was out of earshot.

"Really?" Mycroft asked in surprise. He didn't expect words like that. He'd always thought he was enjoying wine and food far too much for other people's liking.

"Yes. It was fascinating. You looked so… passionate," Greg said sheepishly. Mycroft watched him for a while.

"That's really sweet. I could listen to you talking about stuff you find fascinating all day too," Holmes remarked and raised his glass.

"To this evening?"

"And all the evenings that are to come." Greg replied, and when the glass chinked, they smiled at each other.


	4. Chapter 4

"What's Mycroft doing in my flat again?!" Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth. John sighed as his friend moved the knocker aside and rushed into the house, then followed Sherlock's new dog and entered himself. Even though John didn't know it, Sherlock's plan was working perfectly. Watson was feeling responsible not only for Sherlock but for the dog too. Also it was a great opportunity for John to get out of his house when he needed it. Mary was going to give birth to their child very soon and she was getting more and more moody. Even if John loved her, he needed a break from her edgy behaviour. And he loved Sherlock as well, although in a different way.

Sherlock burst into his flat and prepared himself for an argument. However, he couldn't see his brother anywhere so he involuntarily calmed down and fell into his chair as he tried to comprehend who could have put the knocker in order. John hid a small smile and joined his friend. He let the dog loose and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

"Hello, brother dear." He heard Mycroft's voice from behind the corner and walked out of the kitchen to see what was going on. Sherlock didn't bother himself with getting up or greeting his brother.

"Hi, Mycroft. How are you?" John said instead.

"Good, thank you," Mycroft smiled, "John." He added to let his brother know this was not meant for him.

"Lestrade is keeping you busy; you've lost two pounds since I last saw you. What are you two up to anyway?" Sherlock raised his head and smirked at his brother. Mycroft managed to frown and grimace before turning deep red.

"My acquaintances, my free time, and my weight are none of your business, Sherlock. I thought we made this clear." The older Holmes snapped and tried to look intimidating, which was difficult when he was red as a radish. John decided it would be better not to be present, and he left the room immediately.

"Someone's got a big crush," Sherlock teased and got up from his chair lazily. He walked to where he kept his violin, "and it's not me."

"Ah, very funny," Mycroft muttered and wished he could be somewhere else.

"Come on, you don't find it funny, do you?" Sherlock smirked as he began playing a song he was sure Mycroft would know. John recognised the tune as well and he was sure he didn't wish to stand between the Holmes brothers right now.

"Not really. That was sarcasm, Sherlock. That's what people do when they talk to people with less intelligence." Mycroft put on a smile that was clearly forced. Sherlock saw him and murmured lyrics of the song for himself.

"I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy. I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need. I'll love you more with every breath truly madly deeply do..." Sherlock sang and Mycroft blushed even more. He had liked this song way too much when it was released and Sherlock had managed to find out. He'd been making fun of Mycroft for quite a long time and unfortunately he didn't forget about it.

"Sherlock, what do you want?" Mycroft asked and was surprised how fierce his voice sounded.

"I don't want anything, my dear brother. I am in my own flat – which can't be said about you, by the way – and I can do whatever I want here." Sherlock turned around, finished the song with one dramatic arc of his hand with the bow, and glared at Mycroft. "You expect somebody to call you. You're not anxious about it, not a call from work only if it is good news you're anticipating. No, something different, something I've never seen you want. You've also looked at your watch three times already; you're wishing to be somewhere else. Maybe I should have chosen 'Wish you were here' instead of 'Truly, madly, deeply'. What do you think?"

"I think you're insane." Mycroft returned.

"Oh, how smart of you," Sherlock laughed, "So what is it? And please spare both of us and don't ask what I mean. Don't make an idiot of yourself."

"Fine. I need you to find out who this man is, what he does, why, who for, whom he meets and so on. If I say it is a matter of the highest priority, I am not exaggerating." Mycroft placed a file he'd been holding on the table. Sherlock put the violin down and moved to it with curiosity.

"And you don't know that yourself?" Sherlock smirked and looked at an enclosed photo.

"It requires quite a lot of walking," Mycroft explained, "I don't have time for that."

"I don't know why," Sherlock shook his head, "I'm sure that now when you're going out with Gavin you don't mind walking. It's healthy and good for keeping yourself fit, you know."

"His name is Gregory," Mycroft muttered and turned around to leave. "Please, brother dear, look at the file. It should interest you and keep you busy for some time so you won't be doing anything stupid. Good bye, John."

"I know his name," Sherlock called after Mycroft, "It's just a great fun to see you defend him."

Mycroft closed the door behind himself, letting his resolute steps show what he thought of his brother. Sherlock and John looked at each other and Sherlock burst out laughing. John smiled, and the corners of his lips twitched.

"He's really in love," John said with a certain amount of astonishment in his voice.

"Of course he is," Sherlock looked up from the file, "He has been for a long time."

"I'm sorry I'm late, I had one tough interrogation; the guy wouldn't say a word without torture," Greg apologised in between two inhales. His breathing was a bit faster than usual and Mycroft was very pleased to see the detective had been running to be on time for their date.

"You don't have to apologise," he said and pulled Greg into an embrace, "I'd wait for you for longer than three minutes."

"Still, I hate being late," Lestrade murmured and pressed his lips on Mycroft's. They kissed for a little while and when their lips parted, they were quite disappointed. Neither wanted to show too much in public, they weren't fans of public displays of affection, and yet Greg felt he would have Mycroft right there in that park if he was asked.

"You've got a new perfume," Mycroft pointed out before he could stop himself and think if it was a good idea.

"Yeah. I've been wearing the last one for a long time," Greg shrugged it off.

"It's nice," Mycroft purred and sniffed at Greg's neck one more time before finally pulling away. Lestrade looked down at his shoes and smiled.

"Thanks," he mumbled, "anyway, where are you taking me? Do I have to change my clothes?"

"I'd like to show you a place I find very soothing. I hope you won't find me too weird after seeing it, but I thought I should be honest and show you every bit of my mind." Mycroft responded and unconsciously took Greg's hand. The latter squeezed it slightly and was quite intrigued as to what this place might be. Considering Mycroft was Sherlock's brother it could have been anything, but Greg hoped with all his might it wasn't some ditch or some other wet, smelly hole full of rats.

"Do I need some special equipment?" Greg asked and smiled unintentionally.

"I don't think so. But maybe you'll have to take your clothes off afterwards." Mycroft said with a straight face. Greg almost stopped in astonishment.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he inquired and tried not to look too eager about it.

"I just said you might need to undress. You're a detective, figure out what I meant," Mycroft smirked. There was a group of teenagers smoking weed and shouting curses and insults all over the street. Greg frowned but he wasn't going to let them spoil his afternoon with Mycroft. He tightened his grip on Mycroft's hand and turned his head away.

"I'll go for an attempt to seduce me," Greg grinned. Mycroft smiled for himself slightly and caressed Greg's hand.

"Hey, queers, stop it. You're disgusting. There are kids on the street." A sharp, female voice rang in Greg's ears. He clutched Mycroft's hand even more tightly as he sped up and wished to be far away. He'd had to deal with homophobic people his whole life, and he hated them with a great passion. He found it terribly cowardly and quite often even hypocritical as there were many people, especially men, who bullied others for being openly homosexual just because they were gay themselves and couldn't accept who they were. Greg had had enough of these people.

"Don't. They're not worth it," Mycroft hissed, and pulled Greg back into reality. Lestrade gritted his teeth, disentangled his fingers from Mycroft's and embraced the man with his now free arm. Mycroft smiled for himself and imitated Greg's actions. He thought they got out of danger when the girl cried again.

"You think you will embrace your fat slut and everything'll be alright, don't you?!" she laughed and her peers joined her. Greg froze, let go of Mycroft and strode towards the youngsters swiftly. They chuckled even more and shouted again. There was only one girl in the group so Lestrade knew exactly who started it, but he wasn't going to let the others be.

"What's your name?" he snapped at a lad in punk gear who had an arm around the girl's waist.

"Who do you think you are, faggot?" he chuckled only. Greg raised an eyebrow and fished his ID from his pocket.

"Who would you say?" he showed the card and there was fear in their eyes. The girl recollected herself first and turned on her heel to flee. Her chums followed her only few seconds later. Greg didn't wish to follow them and right when he looked around to see where Mycroft was all the time, there were two policemen running towards the gang. Greg watched them with satisfaction but he couldn't comprehend what was going on.

"Don't you wish to show them how dangerous a queer can be?" Mycroft whispered into his ear and Greg almost jumped up in surprise.

"You called the police?" he asked and took Mycroft's hand again.

"They were nearby as you may have deduced. But yes, I did. They were not going to run away after insulting you." Mycroft explained.

"You're so lovely," Greg exclaimed and gave Mycroft a kiss on each cheek.

"Do you wish to arrest them?" Mycroft smiled between the small pecks. Greg hummed and nodded.

"Yeah, sure. But I'd like to have you even more." He murmured and took Mycroft's hand. As they neared them, the policemen already had the youngsters handcuffed. Greg smirked at them before he turned to the uniformed man.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm detective inspector Gregory Lestrade and this is Mycroft Holmes. He's the one who called you. Get these lads into prison for swearing in public, harassment, mockery of a police man and not cooperating. I'll be a witness." Greg offered them a smile and they just kept staring at him. He was seriously worried they wouldn't be able to get those men into the police station.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," the cop babbled.

"Good, thank you." Lestrade took Mycroft's hand and they vanished before anything more could be asked. They walked off a few hundred metres when Mycroft finally spoke up.

"Did they really just believe you were an inspector without you showing your ID or anything?"

"Yeah. I'll have to get somebody to look them over. This is not how it should be." Greg replied, "But seriously, don't I look like a detective?"

"Of course you do," Mycroft laughed. "You're a bloodcurldling nightmare for every criminal who has ever heard of you and even for those who haven't."

"You know you're not talking to Sherlock, right?" Lestrade chuckled.

"Ah, really funny. But I think I can make out you and Sherlock," Mycroft remarked.

"Good. It'd be weird if you didn't."

They walked in silence for some time. Greg let Mycroft lead him and tried to guess where they were going but he couldn't see the solution. There were so many places around the spot, but neither of them seemed to be calm or even soothing. However Mycroft was not like other – ordinary –people and a place he found soothing probably wasn't a common place to go to. Greg noticed that even if Mycroft appeared to be less socially ignorant, he was just as strange as Sherlock and maybe even worse at socialising with people. He felt really special for being the reason that Mycroft left his office.

"So, here we are," Mycroft announced and he let Greg adjust to the situation. The detective looked at the big black cemetery gate in front of him and couldn't keep himself from laughing. Mycroft looked at him with a question in his eyes.

"You're so cute. You really thought I was going to think you were strange because you like visiting cemeteries?" Greg opened the gate and led Mycroft behind.

"Actually I did. Some people find it strange," Mycroft replied.

"Well, most people find you strange," Greg chuckled, "I understand why you like cemeteries."

"Do you?" Holmes asked, a bit surprised. Greg nodded and admired the whole place for a while. He was absorbing the atmosphere for some time before he closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Yes," he said, still with closed eyes, "it's silent and calm, there aren't many people and if they are here, they don't bother you."

"You've put it into words really well," Mycroft sighed.

"I know, right, I'm such a poet," Greg chuckled.

"The best," Mycroft nodded.

"So is somebody who was close to you buried here?" Greg inquired.

"No. I'm unattached to this place, I just like to be here," Mycroft responded. "Come, I'll show you my favourite place."

They walked slowly and silently among the graves, crunching the debris under their feet. Light mist embraced them and nothing broke the solemnity of the moment. Greg held Mycroft's hand and caressed it softly with his thumb. They reached the back of the cemetery; the old, unkempt place with graves of those who had nobody in the world to care about their memorials. The broken gravestones, white marble telling of the passing of a soldier from WWI, and the long, overgrown grass everywhere created the perfect atmosphere.

"I know what you mean," Greg breathed out, "This certainly does have something interesting about it. But it's still eerie."

"Whatever you say," Mycroft huffed, "I always go here when something upsets me or I need to think about something."

Greg was silent for some time. "And what do you think about now?"

"That I don't want to think, not when I can be with you." Mycroft turned to Greg and pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm such a romantic."

"Hush, shut up," Greg giggled and blushed before they kissed even more passionately than before. He raised his hands up to Mycroft's face and caressed it while Mycroft strengthened the grip on Greg's waist. They would have stood there for eternity, just embracing each other, had it not been for the first few drops of rain that fell on them. They parted slightly and still close to each other looked up to the sky.

"Should we get somewhere inside?" Mycroft asked as the rain thickened. Greg watched his lover and pictured them, soaked, lying in the long grass and crushing it as their bodies moved. He kept the picture in his mind for a while, but dismissed it finally. The idea was indeed interesting, but he was not that keen on having his first time with Mycroft this way.

"Probably. Your turn to choose," he murmured and wiped a drop of water from Mycroft's eyebrow.

"My place. I don't want you to catch a cold," Mycroft said and kissed Greg before he took his hand and lead them out of the cemetery. The rain turned into a storm and they were already completely wet.

"You think I'm such a baby?" Greg asked and pretended to frown.

"Of course," Mycroft smiled. "My baby."

"Then you have to take care of me," Lestrade grinned. "Cook me dinner, tuck me into bed, tell me stories..."

"Certainly. And bathe you," Mycroft chuckled. Greg blushed.

"You've got such a dirty mind," he muttered.


End file.
